


I Get By (With a Little Help)

by westernredcedar



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: All is not well between Bitty and Mama Bittle, Comforting, Domesticity, Established pb&j, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Pie Baking, Seriously this is not a getting together fic, you get to decide for yourself how it happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 06:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13242552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westernredcedar/pseuds/westernredcedar
Summary: SOS from Jack to Kent: He's still baking, and it's after midnight





	I Get By (With a Little Help)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [immarcesibility](https://archiveofourown.org/users/immarcesibility/gifts).



> Based on this PB&J prompt: I'd like to see how the guys deal with each other's mental issues, communicating and stuff. It could be either angsty or fluffy, whatever you prefer.
> 
> Thanks to the wonderful Sellahdor for being a great beta. 
> 
> Title is just full-on Beatles. Jack likes it.
> 
> Happy 'sawesome Santa immarcesibility, and a very 'sawesome New Year! I hope you enjoy this little tidbit!

**Jack** _You up?_

 **Parse** _Yup._

 **Jack** _Good. So’s our boy. He just sent me a selfie in front of five pies, one more in progress._

 **Parse** _Shit._

 **Parse** _You know anything?_

 **Jack** _No. Can you get there? My flight doesn’t get in until late tomorrow._

 **Parse** _Yeah, I’m on it._

 **Jack** _Keep me posted._

*

Kent makes as much noise as possible, shaking his keys and slamming the door coming into the apartment. He’s not at all interested in sneaking up on Eric if he’s already six pies in. 

“Jesus, it smells fuckin’ amazing in here!” he shouts, louder than necessary. The neighbors are gonna kill them. It’s two in the morning.

“Kent?” Eric’s voice echoes out of the kitchen. 

“The one and only, babe.” Kent kicks off his shoes and tosses his cap onto the entry table.

Eric’s blond head appears around the corner. “What are you doing here, hon? Aren’t you in Boston? It’s the middle of the night.” Eric dusts his floury hands on his apron (it’s the cat footprint one that Kent had bought for him last birthday) and tiptoes into the hallway to pull Kent into a welcoming hug. 

Kent holds him close; Eric smells like flour and butter, but also like a guy who hasn’t showered. His hair is a tangled mess. Kent runs his hand through it.

“Nosy little bird informed me that a bakery was breaking out over here, and I didn’t want to miss that shit,” Kent says, hoping he’s keeping his voice casual.

“Well, that’s just foolishness. As if I wouldn’t save some for you,” Eric says, pulling away and heading into the kitchen again. 

Kent follows to survey the damage.

The kitchen is a disaster. One entire half of the countertop is covered in dough in various states of preparation. The other side is covered in what looks like herbs and chopped veggies and empty packages and discarded spice containers. A light dusting of flour covers everything. 

Kent peeks under the hanging cupboards into the apartment to see that Eric has draped the pool table with a cloth and five beautiful pies are cooling in a row down the center. 

“Whacha making?” Kent asks, casually leaning against the wall at the entry to the kitchen and folding his arms, trying not to panic. 

Eric has started bustling again, rolling out a crust that he’d obviously been in the middle of forming when Kent arrived. “Well, I got this bee in my bonnet to make a savory pie, because I had lamb in the fridge that I needed to use before it spoiled. I needed a few more things from the store, so I ended up getting ingredients for a few chicken pies as well, because Jack’s home tomorrow, and then I thought maybe I could try some traditional recipes with a mix of meats. So one way or another…”

Kent watches Eric lose his breath. His shoulders sag and he stops his determined rolling. 

Kent steps into the room. “Let me help you finish this one up, huh?” he says. 

Eric is quiet for a moment, then takes a deep breath and says, “Yeah, okay.” His voice is low and exhausted. 

“Just order me around, babe. Tell me what to do.”

It takes about twenty more minutes to get this last pie finished (the seventh, a chicken and lamb with onion and peas; the sixth is already in the oven, it turns out. Jesus). Kent takes over for the most part, and also starts running some of the easy dishes under the tap and getting them into the dishwasher. Eric spends most of his time cutting an intricate pattern out of dough to decorate the top of the last pie. Kent lets him focus on that without comment. 

Once the oven door is closed on the last pie and the timer set, Kent holds out his hand. 

“So, when do I get to eat?” he asks. “I think I heard mention of curried chicken?”

Eric’s tired eyes look at him with what Kent hopes is gratefulness, and he takes his hand.

“I’ll get you a piece, honey.”

“Get one for yourself too, huh?”

Kent casually wipes down and cleans up a few more areas of the kitchen while Bitty serves up the two slices of pie. 

“Damn, that looks amazing.” Kent takes his plate from Eric, and then leads him to the living room, out of the kitchen. A little of the knot in his chest dissolves just getting Eric out of that room.

“I can’t believe you are here, hon,” Eric says, settling down on the couch. 

Kent strategically plops down at the end of the couch and extends his legs over Eric’s lap, effectively trapping him there (it’s a trick Jack showed him years ago). “Let’s give this a try,” he says, taking a huge bite. The pie is absolutely amazing, of course. Kent hears himself let out a little moan. 

Eric’s eyes warm. “It’s good?” 

Kent nods. In the years they’ve been together, he can’t actually remember ever biting into something Eric made and discovering it was horrible. “Try it,” he says. 

They eat in the late night silence until both plates are empty. Eric starts to sag against Kent’s legs. 

Kent puts down his plate. This is the part he’s no good at; Jack’s the one who should be here. It’s still novel, after a lifetime of crushing it all down, to actually let himself start a conversation about this shit. 

“So. You wanna talk about it?” he asks at last.

Eric makes a face like he’s about to protest, but then he sinks against the couch pillows and closes his eyes.

“You don’t have to, babe, but you sent that picture to Zimms, and that’s just what you promised to do when you needed help. So. What’s up?” 

Eric stares at the ceiling for a long time. Kent’s entire body is twitchy and impatient, but he breathes himself through it, just waiting.

“Mama called today.”

Whatever bullshit is holding Kent back, it erodes at Eric’s pained voice. He lifts his legs and adjusts around so that he can pull Eric against him. Eric’s entire body just collapses, awkward and sloppy, sobs starting from deep down. 

Kent’s heart sinks. “Oh. Shit.”

“She.. wasn’t even that bad this time, but somehow… that was worse. It was just… and then the pies. I couldn’t...”

Kent pulls him even closer and gets one hand into his hair, just brushing his fingers through over and over. He’s thrown back in memory for a moment, to the first weekend he and Eric ever spent together without Jack, years ago, when they’d both faked being okay with everything for twenty-four hours until Eric crumpled, crying and angry, and they’d finally, finally talked.

“Hey, babe. You’re done with that now. I’ve got ya.”

“It’s such a waste. Look at all of that food, hon. Oh Lord.” 

“Yeah, you were… productive.” Eric sniffs and then lets out a little huff of a laugh. He winds his arms around Kent, and squeezes tight enough for Kent to feel it in his ribs. 

“So one step at a time, right? Let’s get that last pie out of the oven, and then maybe rinse off in the shower, and sleep this off. And in the morning we’ll um...find some people who need to eat and give ‘em some pies, huh?” 

Eric raises his head and looks at Kent for a moment. His eyes are puffy and red, but there’s the ghost of a smile on his lips. “You think we could?” 

“Shit, babe. Sleep does wonders.”

Eric nuzzles his face against Kent’s chest for a moment in what might be a nod. Kent presses a kiss into his hair and hopes that this might be okay, for now.

*

 **Parse** _Seven meat pies. Fucking Suzanne. But he’s asleep now. I cleaned up the kitchen._

 **Jack** _Thanks. I couldn’t sleep._

 **Parse** _I know, dumbass. That’s why I’m texting you at 4am_

 **Jack** _Oh. Call in the morning?_

 **Parse** _Yup._

 **Jack** _You okay?_

 **Parse** _Better now. Just exhausted over assholes who treat their kids like shit._

 **Jack** _Yeah._

 **Parse** _Thanks, Zimms._

 **Jack** _What for?_

 **Parse** _Letting me be the one to help._

 **Jack** _Oh, I didn’t even think about it._

 **Parse** _Yeah._

Kent bites his lip for a minute and then adds:

 **Parse** _Exactly._

*


End file.
